<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Files by lobtserguts</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484885">Files</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobtserguts/pseuds/lobtserguts'>lobtserguts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Depressed Michael, F/M, FAHC setting, Fake AH Crew, Major character death - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, juggey centric, sad shit, trevor is tryin his damn best</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:41:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobtserguts/pseuds/lobtserguts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor finds it odd how Michael knows where everything is in his office.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lindsay Tuggey Jones/Michael Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Files</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>oopsie daisy cry time</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trevor had just about had it with this office.</p>
<p>  He couldn't find anything! He didn't understand the drawers, the placement, anything! File cabinets seemed to just be stuffed randomly, in any odd order, anywhere they wanted to be! Pre-planned heists were all in different locations, bills were just pinned on the walls, and who knew what was still strewn upon the desk!</p>
<p>  Every crevice Trevor looked in, every nook and cranny, was some new thing. Most of the time, that thing was very important and pivotal to the ongoings of the crew. He'd had it! Why wasn't this place orderly?</p>
<p>  Trevor took a deep breath in and sighed. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be fine, and he would figure it out.</p>
<p>  Wouldn't he?</p>
<p>  Ever since Lindsay died, things had been going south for all of them.</p>
<p>  Jack was trying on his own to keep everyone in high spirits, but without Geoff to aid anymore, it was becoming a tall task. What little remained of the gents were trying their hardest to stay strong, while the lads had all lost their bubbly natures.</p>
<p>  Michael had finally lost what little remained of his sanity.</p>
<p>  He hid away in his room, crying and screaming at the walls. He didn't sleep and rarely ate anymore. He wouldn't be consoled, mad with grief. He'd stopped grooming himself, his curly hair drooping down and casting a shadow over his eyes. He rarely spoke, and if at all, it was either short and curt, or it was to an empty room. Every now and then, he'd talk to the wall as if it were Lindsay, and Trevor could swear he could see Death himself reflected in his eyes.</p>
<p>  But, if Trevor was ever going to be an effective leader, he needed to figure out the filings of his office, and Michael was probably the only person left in the entire world that could possibly help. </p>
<p>  And it was because of this that Trevor knocked cautiously upon his door.</p>
<p>  He received no answer, but turned the knob and stepped inside, anyway, and looked to the bed. Michael was lying on his side, staring blankly at the wall with unblinking eyes. Tear-stains crossed his face, bleeding into his comforter. He was dangerously thin, his furred jacket covering what little there was left of him. His breathing was so shallow that Trevor, at first glance, thought he had finally succumbed to the starvation. Only the slightest twitch of his eye towards the door alerted his wakefulness.</p>
<p>  "Hey, Michael…" Trevor started gently, "How're you feeling?"</p>
<p>  No answer.</p>
<p>  "Have you, uh…" Trevor continued anyway, "eaten anything today? Do you want me to get you anything?"</p>
<p>  No answer.</p>
<p>  "You're… You're alive, right? B-Blink if you're alive."</p>
<p>  Michael blinked, but slowly, and Trevor prayed-  to any god who would hear- that it wouldn't be symbolic.</p>
<p>  "Okay, good…" Trevor sighed, with both relief and unease, and took a deep breath in. "I, uh… I need your help… with something."</p>
<p>  Michael blinked again, slowly and deliberately.</p>
<p>  "You see, I uh… I don't… know how Lind-"</p>
<p>  Trevor stopped himself. He shouldn't say her name. Not in front of him. That would be a crueler punishment than anything he was putting himself through.</p>
<p>  "I mean, I… I don't know how the office is filed and I just… wanted to see if… if you knew, was all…"</p>
<p>  Michael turned his head slightly to look Trevor in the eyes, and Trevor couldn't stop himself from looking back, as much as he wanted to turn away.</p>
<p>  Michael's eyes were dull and dead. There wasn't a soul in those eyes anymore. Only pain. His tortured gaze penetrated the very fibers of Trevor's psyche and made him want to turn and flee, but he didn't.</p>
<p>  Because Michael was looking at him.</p>
<p>  Something he hadn't done for two long months.</p>
<p>  Trevor reached out his hand to him, forcing a genuine smile and trying desperately to keep the quiver out of his voice.</p>
<p>  "What do you say, old pal?"</p>
<p>  Michael continued to say nothing, but, gathering what seemed like all his strength, lifted himself from the bed. Trevor rushed over to help him, gripping onto his shoulders to steady him, and nearly doubling over himself when he felt his body underneath his jacket.</p>
<p>  He was just bone.</p>
<p>  Michael stood with difficulty, his legs likely atrophied from misuse and neglect. He stood with a gait that only a corpse should have- hunched and pale, his dead eyes never ceasing to stay open. Trevor's heart sank just watching him.</p>
<p>  He didn't look like he had much time left.</p>
<p>  Still, Trevor swallowed, and tried his hardest to look optimistic.</p>
<p>  "C-C'mon, Mikey! Let's… Let's go."</p>
<p>  Trevor let go of Michael, just to see if he could walk on his own. He could. Each movement of his bones erupted a terrible chorus of clicking bones and sharp breaths. Each step seemed like agony, but step he did, and he slunk his way to the door and followed Trevor out.</p>
<p>  Trevor led him down the hall, out of view of the others. He didn't want any of them bombarding him, for fear that he'd finally implode from the stress. Each terrible step Michael made filled Trevor with a fear he'd never felt before, as if, at any moment, Michael would just fall and turn to sand. </p>
<p>  It was now that he regretted asking for Michael's help at all. He should be laying down. Better yet, he should be eating. Sleeping. Anything else. He should be mourning and grieving and being, if nothing else, stable. But he wasn't. And he  couldn't be. And probably would never be again.</p>
<p>  At last, they made it to the office. Trevor opened the door for them both, allowing Michael to sulk his way in before closing the door behind them.</p>
<p>  "Thanks for your help, Michael," Trevor began, moving his way towards his desk, "I really appreciate it."</p>
<p>  Michael made no move to speak, so Trevor continued.</p>
<p>  "I'm, uh… I'm looking for a heist sheet. Should be titled something like 'Bank 64' or '64k Heist' or-"</p>
<p>  "Steps."</p>
<p>  Trevor was so startled by Michael's sudden voice that he took a minute to process what he'd said.</p>
<p>  "I'm… I'm sorry, what?"</p>
<p>  "... How many steps does it have?"</p>
<p>  Michael's voice was quiet and rough, but his words were clear. Though, Trevor still wasn't entirely following.</p>
<p>  "Uh… twelve, I believe? I don't really see why-"</p>
<p>  Without a word, Michael dragged himself over to a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, reached in, and took out a file. He then promptly slunk his way back towards Trevor's desk and gave him the file.</p>
<p>  Sure enough, the file read '$64,000 Bank Heist, Lawrence's Depot'.</p>
<p>  "O-Oh!" Trevor exclaimed with surprise, "Thank you, Michael! That was fast! How did you… uh…"</p>
<p>  Trevor looked up just in time to see Michael disappear through the office door.</p>
<p>  "Oh, uh… bye, I guess…" Trevor trailed off after him, and leaned back in his chair.</p>
<p>  He re-read the file name again and again to himself. This was what he was looking for, wasn't it? Of course it was. Why wouldn't it be? He just couldn't believe how fast Michael had found it. It had been months since Michael had even looked at this office, how had he known exactly where it was?</p>
<p>  Trevor shook his head. He could think about it later. He had a heist to prepare.</p>
<p>  ---</p>
<p>  "Lindsay?"</p>
<p>  Michael slowly opened the door to the office, careful not to make too much noise and startle anyone. It was late, and Lindsay still hadn't come to bed. Michael figured work must be keeping her busy.</p>
<p>  Sure enough, she was sat at her desk, looking over stacks upon stacks of files atop it that gave Michael a sudden pang of anxiety. What was all this?</p>
<p>  She didn't seem to notice Michael, so he spoke again, a bit louder this time.</p>
<p>  "Lindsay."</p>
<p>  Lindsay's head jolted up to the door in surprise, but sighed with relief when she saw Michael there.</p>
<p>  "For Christ's sake, stop doing that," Lindsay laughed quietly.</p>
<p>  Michael rolled his eyes with a slight smile and walked over to her.</p>
<p>  "Did you… plan on sleeping at all?" Michael asked, pulling a chair from the corner and dragging it up next to his wife, eyeing the papers that lined her desk.</p>
<p>  "Sorry, I uh…" Lindsay said, holding up a handful of the files and scratching her head, "might be a while."</p>
<p>  Michael took the files from her and peered over them. They were all different things, it seemed. Bills. Heists. Plans. It was all jumbled together, as if their significance didn't matter more than the paper itself.</p>
<p>  "What… is all this?" Michael asked, picking up more and more piles of papers and looking over them.</p>
<p>  All different still.</p>
<p>  "A lot of nothing if you ask me," Lindsay shrugged. "I'm trying to organize it right now but…"</p>
<p>  "Not going well?"</p>
<p>  "Uh… Yeah. I never really was good at organizing."</p>
<p>  "No shit."</p>
<p>  Michael looked up briefly from the piles he was holding to find that there was still… so much more. More files and papers covered the floor behind the desk and hung down from and out of every filing cabinet in the room. None of them were properly stacked, corners sticking out every which way.</p>
<p>  This place in and of itself was giving Michael a panic attack.</p>
<p>  "What in the hell…" was all Michael could mutter as he looked around.</p>
<p>  "Is it really that bad?" Lindsay asked from beside him.</p>
<p>  Michael nearly had a conniption.</p>
<p>  "Wha- Yes! Lindsay, how do you find anything in here! It's a mess!"</p>
<p>  "Well, most of the time it kind of just… conveniently pops up."</p>
<p>  "'Conveniently pops up'? Lindsay, that's not how the world works! That's not how anything works! How does anything get done?"</p>
<p>  Lindsay looked away and Michael turned incredulous.</p>
<p>  "It doesn't, does it?"</p>
<p>  "Uh… no. No, it does not."</p>
<p>  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose.</p>
<p>  "Lindsay-"</p>
<p>  "I know!" Lindsay stopped him. "I know. It's bad, b-but I'm trying to fix it! And I'm… kind of making progress!"</p>
<p>  "What do you mean by 'progress'?"</p>
<p>  "I, uh… put everything into little piles?"</p>
<p>  Michael took a deep breath in and out, before continuing.</p>
<p>  "Okay," Michael sighed. "We can fix this."</p>
<p>  "We?"</p>
<p>  "Did you really think I was going to leave all of this shit to you? It'd be a tall fuckin' task with just one of us."</p>
<p>  Lindsay just looked at him for a moment, but gave him a small, grateful smile.</p>
<p>  "Thanks, Michael."</p>
<p>  Michael looked back, but shook his head.</p>
<p>  "C'mon. It's late as it is, and at this rate it's gonna take all night."</p>
<p>  Lindsay nodded, "Right. Where do we start?"</p>
<p>  "Well…" Michael pondered for a second, gauging the measure of all that had to be done in his head, "I guess we can start with preferences. Numerical or alphabetical?"</p>
<p>  "Uh… pardon?"</p>
<p>  "Do you want these filed in numerical or alphabetical order?"</p>
<p>  "Uh… neither?"</p>
<p>  "Neither?"</p>
<p>  "I'm… bad at both of those things."</p>
<p>  "... You can't be serious."</p>
<p>  "You'd be surprised at the things I'm serious about."</p>
<p>  Michael took another deep breath.</p>
<p>  "Well, then, how should we organize these?"</p>
<p>  "I don't know… we could, uh… hm…"</p>
<p>  Lindsay appeared to think, but didn't seem to be coming up with any answers. Michael was trying his absolute hardest to be patient, but the messiness and smallness of the room was suffocating him.</p>
<p>  "Okay, let me rephrase that," Michael spoke up. "How do you normally organize things?"</p>
<p>  Lindsay thought some more, but this time came up with an answer.</p>
<p>  "Oh! I usually put things in order from most important to least important."</p>
<p>  "Okay," Michael replied back, "we can start there. What's the most important thing in this room?"</p>
<p>  "Uh… probably the bills?"</p>
<p>  "Okay. Bills. Where are you going to be least likely to forget about them?"</p>
<p>  "Hmm… probably on the walls."</p>
<p>  "Okay, the- I'm sorry, what?"</p>
<p>  "Oh, well, when I want to remember things, I look at the wall, so like… if I look at the wall and see the thing I want to remember then that's, like… good, right?"</p>
<p>  Michael gave himself a moment to process what she'd just said and, after that moment, started to understand.</p>
<p>  "I guess that… kind of makes sense… So… okay. Bills can go on the walls. So, uh… do you have a sticky note and a pen in here somewhere?"</p>
<p>  "Sure!" Lindsay said, reaching into a drawer in her desk, which revealed even more files. "Why?"</p>
<p>  She handed him the notepad and the pen, and Michael went straight to work.</p>
<p>  "Just so that we remember for the future, we can write down where stuff is supposed to go. That way, when it comes time to start organizing, we won't misplace anything."</p>
<p>  "Oh!" Lindsay chirped excitedly. "Put it on the wall! We can keep it there so that if I ever forget in the future, I'll remember where I put stuff because the sticky note's on the wall."</p>
<p>  "That… Y'know? That's on brand."</p>
<p>  He was playfully punched in the arm for that one, but it was worth it.</p>
<p>  "Asshole," Lindsay huffed.</p>
<p>  "I mean, it's not like I'm wrong… Plus, it's… a little genius, so…"</p>
<p>  Lindsay snorted. "You have a weird way of flirting, you know that?"</p>
<p>  "Is it flirting if we're already married?"</p>
<p>  Lindsay shrugged. "Who's to say?"</p>
<p>  And with that, they got to work.</p>
<p>  Lindsay fished some thumb tacks from her drawer and together they pinned all the bills on the wall. While they worked, they discussed where other things could go. They decided to put any general plans in one set of cabinets, ordered first from what kind of plan, and then from most difficult to least difficult. Any important documents like base maps or crew tabs were stashed between cabinets, so that in case of a break-in, they would likely remain unfound.</p>
<p>  They continued on like this for hours until they got to the last of the stacks.</p>
<p>  Heists.</p>
<p>  Michael heaved these stacks up onto Lindsay's desk with a sigh. He was tired, but he felt so much better now that everything was more or less orderly. Clutter out of way, it almost seemed as though he were in a different room. He could only hope that Lindsay could maintain it like this. The amount of work that would get done in here!</p>
<p>  But they weren't done yet. Just one more round.</p>
<p>  "Okay, where should we… uh…"</p>
<p>  Michael trailed off as he looked up from the piles, and was aghast to find that Lindsay was sound asleep.</p>
<p>  When had that happened? How long had she been out?</p>
<p>  Her head was rested on her arms on the desk, her long, red hair draped over her shoulders like a blanket. Michael nearly jolted at the sight. How had she gotten to sleep that quickly?</p>
<p>  He was just about to wake her, but stopped himself. She looked so peaceful, and she'd looked so tired before. But then again, she needed to be awake so that she'd know where they put things.</p>
<p>  Michael dwelled on it before realizing he was starting to stress himself out again and stopped. He had to think, not panic. It was just one set of stacks. He could do it on his own and write it down on the sticky note.</p>
<p>  But there was one problem.</p>
<p>  How was he going to order it?</p>
<p>  So far, everything in that office had been ordered, though rather in an unorthodox fashion, to suit Lindsay and how her mind worked.</p>
<p>  Michael didn't have Lindsay's mind. Michael had Michael's mind. Michael's mind knew Michael's preferred method of order. Not Lindsay's. Lindsay seemingly had no method of order.</p>
<p>  Michael tried to think. What would Lindsay do? Well, she'd just… put them somewhere. She'd put them somewhere, in some order, that her brain justified. That's what they'd been doing all night.</p>
<p>  But how? Michael's mind couldn't just do that. His brain could barely comprehend Lindsay's method! How was he going to do that on his own without Lindsay?</p>
<p>  He closed his eyes to think. He was panicking again. He had to stop doing that. He tried to break everything down to its bare essentials.</p>
<p>  Lindsay had put the bills on the wall ordered from importance… plans from difficulty… important things were hidden… Was any of it correlated? Was the method that there was no method? Did it really not matter?</p>
<p>  He opened his eyes and looked at Lindsay, sleeping away without a care in the world. Just the sight of her calmed him and he took a deep breath.</p>
<p>  Maybe there was no method after all. Maybe he just had to put them somewhere, and order them in a way Lindsay would understand. Maybe that was all there was to it.</p>
<p>  Michael decided he'd order them from most steps required to least, and he'd put them in a cabinet, and he'd walk away. He figured it'd be easy enough to understand; most steps on top, least on the bottom.</p>
<p>  He got to work quickly and quietly, being sure not to wake Lindsay up. He let himself breathe as he sorted. Organizing had always been relaxing to him, something he would never tell the others but was sure Lindsay knew. She knew everything about him, whether he'd told her or not. Just the thought of her made the work so much faster and, before he knew it, he had finished.</p>
<p>  He briskly jotted down the directions on the sticky note and stuck it to the wall.</p>
<p>  Done.</p>
<p>  Michael turned from the wall and crept his way lightly back to his chair and laid his head on Lindsay's shoulder. He pressed his face up against hers and couldn't help but grin when she subconsciously pushed back.</p>
<p>  Michael yawned mutely. No way in hell was he waking her up now. They'd just have to sleep here. The soft light of the desk lamp created a nice, comforting glow that lulled Michael to sleep, and thought he just might let it. </p>
<p>  Snuggled up to Lindsay's side, he finally let himself pass out.</p>
<p>  ---</p>
<p>  Michael gripped his sides desperately, fingernails digging into his thin, ashy flesh.</p>
<p>  It hurt so much.</p>
<p>  He was on his knees, bowed in front of the mirror. Voices whispered in his ears, screeching for control, but he refused. He dug his nails in deeper, until he thought he could tear away his skin, and shed the voices from their tomb.</p>
<p>  He let the pain consume him, distract him from his true agony. It never worked, but it was worth another try. There wasn't much left of his sides anyway, as they were mostly puncture wounds. He had nothing left to lose anymore. Might as well fight it as long as he could.</p>
<p>  But the voices were persistent. They begged for an out. He knew there was little point in ignoring them. What was there to live for anymore? Why should he continue living? There was nothing here for him anymore. Life had made it clear he was destined to live and die a lonely, sickened rat. That's all he'd ever be.</p>
<p>  He should just tear the skin away.</p>
<p>  But the voices held him back.</p>
<p>  <em>"You know, you shouldn't think like that."</em></p>
<p>  "Go away," Michael growled at it, a shaky whisper dripped from his lips. "I know you aren't real."</p>
<p>  <em>"There are still people here that love you. Think of your crew. They all love you. They want you here."</em></p>
<p>  "Get out of my head…"</p>
<p>  <em>"You're still as beautiful as you always were. You're still loved, my dear."</em></p>
<p>  "I-I said get out…"</p>
<p>  <em>"And you know I always loved you-"</em></p>
<p>  "I said get <strong>out</strong>!"</p>
<p>  Michael spun around and screamed, angry tears flowing down his face.</p>
<p>  But, as always, no one was there.</p>
<p>  Michael felt like he was going to throw up.</p>
<p>  Why? Why him? Why was fate so cruel? Why did it have to take her away from him? Why her?</p>
<p>  Michael collapsed onto the ground. He couldn't go on like this. It wasn't fair. Why should he live in this killing game, over and over again? Salt tears dripped down his cheeks and choked him, filling his eyes like ocean water and stinging his lungs. He sobbed, covering his face with his hands and just hoping a hole would open up in the Earth and swallow him whole.</p>
<p>  <em>"Everything's going to be okay. I promise."</em></p>
<p>  Michael, too fatigued to fight it anymore, answered.</p>
<p>  "You say that every time… It's never true…"</p>
<p>  <em>"It will be, I promise you."</em></p>
<p>  "...When?"</p>
<p>  <em>"Soon."</em></p>
<p>  Michael felt a presence at his back, but knew there'd be no one there if he turned. It brushed a dead hair from Michael's shadowed face and slinked a tendril down his side comfortingly. Michael hated it, more than he had ever hated anything else in his entire life, simply because he knew it wasn't real. He knew his mind was imagining it, and he wanted so badly for it to be real. He knew no one was there, and if he turned around, he wouldn't see anyone.</p>
<p>  He never did.</p>
<p>  "What do you want from me?" Michael whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper.</p>
<p>  <em>"I want you to recover. I want you to love again."</em></p>
<p>  Michael laughed. He laughed the saddest, most broken laugh he had ever laughed, and he laughed. His body shook and tears flowed from his eyes. Pain gripped at his stomach and his head, but he kept laughing.</p>
<p>  Everything was so fucking funny.</p>
<p>  "I-I'm sorry to tell you this," Michael's voice shook between his laughter, "but that's never going to happen again..."</p>
<p>  Michael began to crawl, laughing all the way, to his bed and climbed on top of it. The effort forced him to collapse, pain too great to bear anymore.</p>
<p>  His laughing dissolved quickly into weeping.</p>
<p>  He couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to die. He needed to die. He didn't want to live any longer. He had no purpose to still be here. Not without her. Without her, he was nothing. Just a waste of space.</p>
<p>  <em>"What's wrong, dear? Why are you so sad?"</em></p>
<p>  "She's gone…" Michael wept. "She's gone and she's not coming back… She's… never coming back…"</p>
<p>  He felt the presence behind him again and shut his eyes so tight that he thought they'd weld together. He couldn't look. He had to keep telling himself nothing was there. No one would be there…</p>
<p>  <em>"I'm right here, Michael… I didn't go anywhere, dear. I still love you."</em></p>
<p>  "...<strong>RAH!</strong>"</p>
<p>  Michael's hand shot out in front of him and grabbed a vase before chucking it behind him, as hard as he possibly could. It shattered on the mirror with a loud crash, all the shards falling to the floor like rain from a storm cloud. His face reflected in each and every tiny mirror he had created, and every single one showed his horror and grief.</p>
<p>  Still, no one was there.</p>
<p>  Michael screamed. He screamed because he didn't know what else to do. His hands shot up to his head and grabbed fistfulls of hair, tearing them away from his scalp in panic, and yelled. He didn't know why. For help? From pain? Could he even still feel pain anymore?</p>
<p>  Michael stopped when he felt blood start to drip down his scalp. It dripped into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Chunks of dark red curls littered the bed like twisted hands reaching out to him, to take him down to hell at last.</p>
<p>  Michael fell. He fell and forced himself to breathe, gasping for air. Each breath was agony. His lungs and stomach refused to be comforted, closing up and churning until Michael was sure neither were functional, but he kept trying anyway.</p>
<p>  It wasn't fair. It had never been fair.</p>
<p>  He could still feel his ghosts around him, surrounding what remained of his empty, decaying body. He hated each and every one of them with all his heart and soul because he knew- god, he knew- that none of them were real.</p>
<p>  But it was so hard not to hope that someone, anyone, still watched over him. Still loved him, like she did.</p>
<p>  He closed his eyes in defeat as he felt them circle him. He knew they wouldn't take him. Not yet. But, oh, how he wished they would just get it over with and put him out of his misery.</p>
<p>  <em>"What do you want, my dear?"</em></p>
<p>  "I want to die…" Michael responded weakly. "I'm half dead already, aren't I? There's no reason to stay when I'm this fucking miserable all the time… She's dead. It's over. I… I can die, and… and I'll be with her, won't I?"</p>
<p>  <em>"What about the people here? Don't you think they'll miss you?"</em></p>
<p>  Michael couldn't help but laugh again.</p>
<p>  "Why would they? I've never given them a reason to miss me. Hell, I might as well be dead already. I doubt they'd even notice anymore…"</p>
<p>  <em>"Is that what you think?"</em></p>
<p>  "Yeah… Yeah, I do…"</p>
<p>  Michael felt the energy drain from his body and knew he was going to pass out soon. He couldn't help but hope that, maybe, just possibly, he didn't have to wake up again.</p>
<p>  <em>"Get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."</em></p>
<p>  "Yeah…" Michael breathed, "maybe I will…"</p>
<p>  Michael curled into himself, as he had no one else to wrap himself around anymore. He could still feel his imagination at his side, but it offered no warmth and no comfort in its presence. He let his tears flow as he closed his eyes. He was all alone again. He was all alone and it was all his fault. He could've saved her, couldn't he? He'd asked himself a million times, but he'd never gotten an answer.</p>
<p>  He curled more. What did it matter anymore? She was dead. No matter whether or not she could have been saved, she was dead now, and Michael did nothing. Why couldn't it have been him instead? He'd die, but she'd still be here, sat next to the others, saying whatever little thing came to her head, and she'd be laughing and happy and she'd live a full life.</p>
<p>  Why couldn't it have been him?</p>
<p>  But Michael couldn't do anything now but sleep. One of the others would come to check on the crashing and screaming soon, and he wanted to be asleep before that happened. A part of him hoped they'd give up checking altogether. A part of him hoped they'd stop visiting him and bringing food. It never got eaten, anyway. It all just went to waste. He hoped they'd forget about him and leave him in his room to rot, or- for god's sake- just kill him already.</p>
<p>  He was ready to go.</p>
<p>  But for now, he had to sleep.</p>
<p>  ---</p>
<p>  Trevor searched around his office for answers. It was bugging him relentlessly how Michael had found that file so fast. What about the number of steps had triggered the answer in his mind? How could he have possibly seen through Lindsay's organizing?</p>
<p>  Trevor knew they had been close, closer than anyone Trevor had ever met before. He knew they had spent every second of the day with each other, telling each other everything, and he still couldn't believe Michael's speed.</p>
<p>  So, he concluded that Michael must see something Trevor didn't.</p>
<p>  He'd searched every cabinet, every nook, every cranny, looking for clues until he was on the verge of giving up entirely. Perhaps Michael was just a wizard.</p>
<p>  But then, miraculously, he found his answer near the bills on the wall.</p>
<p>  Pushing aside a loose bill allowed a lone, small piece of paper to flutter gracefully to the ground.</p>
<p>  A sticky note.</p>
<p>  Trevor picked it up, and was both surprised and delighted to find an answer key. Sure enough, he found that the files in that cabinet were not only heists, but ordered by number of steps.</p>
<p>  Trevor flipped the note around in his fingers. The glue on the note was nearly worn away entirely, and the ink of the pen was a tad faded, but it was clear enough to use religiously.</p>
<p>  Trevor took a relieved breath. Success!</p>
<p>  Trevor was just about ready to celebrate when he felt a chill down his spine. He spun around, clutching the note in his hand. He could've sworn he'd felt someone there, heard a voice…</p>
<p>  "... Hello?" He called out timidly, sure one of the others had just stepped in.</p>
<p>  But, alas, no one was there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Probably the fastest I've ever finished a fic! Though I'm not entirely happy with the pacing, I had a lot of fun with this (which is ironic considering the subject matter but)!</p>
<p>Sorry to bring the mood down but goddamn do I love writing this kinda sad shit.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>